After the Storm
by irishwoodkern
Summary: Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire.


It began with the end. There was a kind of painful monotony about how it happened. It was almost ludicrous to think how often they had faced down deadly foes. Somehow, they had always managed to come through it, to think through the impossible and defy the odds together.

Tonight had been different. It was a Devil's bargain, foisted on them by Henry himself. His soul redeemed, but only in return for his father's.

'What are you talking about, Crane. You're not thinking of going through with it?'

'I feel I must. There is no other way.'

Abbie felt a sense of dread creep over her. 'You promised you'd never say that again.'

They had made a lot of promises over the last year. Like lovers, they had bound each other to pledges of mutual honesty and devotion. But they were not lovers, not in that sense anyway.

For so long they had waited, each knowing the love they secretly bore for the other in their hearts. The pain did not diminish even when they could no longer hide their feelings, for Katrina was still out there, bound to Crane, but still inextricably entangled with Abraham van Brunt. One night, the witch decided that she had had enough of living at the whim of fate, of being caught between two men whose warring love consumed her.

Katrina finally summoned all of her power to cast a spell, one designed to bind a troubled spirit and allow it to pass on. She believed to the end that Henry would not allow his mother to die, but his soul was too corrupted by Moloch's evil. The spell weakened him, but it destroyed her.

Heartbroken – for it seemed he still had a heart – the Horseman of Death forswore his master and embraced his love in death as he never could in life. Crane grieved as a widower, more so for realising at last that he had not loved his wife as a husband for a long time.

Damaged by his mother's spell and without the Horseman as his bodyguard, Henry went to ground, hunted like an animal. It seemed appropriate that his last stand would take place on Hallowe'en, the night when the veil between the two worlds was at its slightest.

Abbie and Crane finally found him in the old cemetery at the edge of town. Abandoned even by his Horrid King and all alone in the world, Henry played the only card he had left. He would turn against Moloch and cast off his mantle as the Horseman of War, but only on one condition. That Crane would take his place.

'You won't do it. You would never.' It was beginning to dawn on Abbie that this was no joke. 'Everything we've fought for, Crane. You would give up the whole world for that man.'

'He is my son, Abbie.'

Though they stood some distance away, Abbie felt sure that Henry could hear every word they spoke. 'And what am I, Crane? I thought we meant more to each other than this…'

'You mean everything to me.' Crane's eyes shone with unshed tears. 'But this is something I must do. I beg you to trust me.'

It was such a simple request, but it seemed beyond her capacity at that moment. She loved Crane with every fibre of her being, yet she could not allow him to sacrifice everything for the sake of a man she hated, a man who had killed so many to further his cause.

And yet, she could not bring herself to stop him. Perhaps it was because she would never hurt him, or the lingering sense of doubt sown by his parting words. _Trust me, _he had said, and how could she do otherwise?

As Crane approached the other man, she noticed one hand remained stiffly in the small of his back, even as the other extended to shake Henry's wizened hand. There may have been a look of relief on Henry's face as his hand reached forward – an unfamiliar vulnerability.

Crane did not allow himself the luxury of compassion as he grabbed Henry's arm and violently twisted it. The other hand stretched forward, the knife clasped within it flashing as it plunged mercilessly into Henry's heart. It was the Dagger of Freya, a knife carve from obsidian glass, bequeathed to them by Katrina. In his fragile state, he could not contend with the power of the witch's blade.

Crane held his son as he died, and even Abbie could not deny her fellow Witness his grief.

* * *

><p>Abbie waited. Some days, waiting was all she could do. She stayed with him when he needed company, left him alone when he asked for space. He talked, she listened. When he remained in stubborn silence, she filled the air with frivolous anecdotes from work.<p>

What she didn't say, what she hoped he knew was that the pain would eventually dull, and when it did, she would be there. A whole world awaited, and he had a place in it. With her, if he so wished.

And so days slipped into weeks, and Abbie slowly began to settle back into a normal, everyday life. Her days were marked out with hours and minutes, no longer with the threat of looming Apocalypse. The milestones in her life were no longer those precious moments of respite which they stole before the arrival of another supernatural threat. The one thing she held onto was the hope that Crane would one day be his old self again.

She pulled up to the cabin one night after work and immediately noticed something different. Not only did the delicious smell of cooking tickle her nostrils, but the air was filled with the strains of Billie Holliday. Crane had developed a soft spot for Miss Day's music after he heard Abbie gently crooning 'God Bless the Child' to herself while reading an account of Salem's witch trials. Two years had passed since then, and Abbie remembered something change within her that day, like a light snapping on. That was the moment her feelings for him began to alter and grow.

'Good evening, Miss Mills. And how does this evening find you?'

She almost cried with relief at the tone of his voice, full of warmth and sincerity. There was still a hint of the old pain around his eyes, but the broken look was gone. He helped her out of her jacket and she poured the wine.

They talked over dinner like old friends, retelling tales of victory, gently needling each other, laughing wildly. The candles were burning low by the time Crane began to clear the plates away.

'Leave those.' A hint of doubt crept over her, wondering if she was doing the right thing.

'Miss Mills?' There was a similar look of hesitation about him as he searched her face.

'Take me to bed, Crane.'

His face was painted with shadows in the flickering candlelight, but Abbie would recollect the look on his face for years to come. Any uncertainty she felt was swept away in an instant by the burning intensity of his gaze. He had desired her years now, but more than that he needed her. She was the balm that his soul craved.

He had no wish to waste any more questioning her sincerity; it was a formality in any case. He knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Without another word, he held out his hand and led her to his bedroom.

This desolate room where he had spent so many hours imagining making love to Abbie became a sacred space. They kissed, their mouths meeting tantalisingly as they explored each other's bodies. Crane's hands drifted over willing flesh, caressing gentle curves and soft skin, treasures that that had been as unobtainable to him as the apples of the Hesperides until that moment.

He could not resist smiling joyfully as they struggled out of their clothes. Every inch of soft, luscious skin he committed to his perfect memory. The sight of Abbie naked before him was almost too much to bear. As he lifted her over to the bed, he pondered that it was worth any pain or suffering to be able to bask in her loveliness.

He heard her gasp as he feathered kisses over her breasts, his fingers roaming down her waist and over her hips. Abbie giggled as he gently squeezed her behind. She threaded her fingers through his hair, leaning forward to place kisses on his forehead.

Crane paused to regard her with affectionate amazement. Abbie shifted backward on the bed, lying back against the pillows. She pulled Crane towards her, enveloping him in her arms again.

She felt her heart thumping in her chest as Crane kissed his way down her body. She could scarcely believe what was happening. Her brain exploded into sensation as Crane explored her with his lips and tongue, tortuously slowly, taking her to the brink again and again.

She grasped his shoulders, trying to anchor herself to reality as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

When she came to herself, she grabbed Crane's hand and laced his fingers through hers. She needed to be as close to him as possible, to wrap her body around him and weave herself through him.

'I love you,' she said breathlessly, looking into the depths of his eyes. 'You know that, right? I'd do anything for you.'

Tears threatened to spill from his eyes as he regarded her, his expression full of adoration and wonder. Abbie wouldn't let that happen though, not even a trace of sorrow could mar their first night together.

'Come here,' she murmured, wrapping her leg around his hip and drawing him close. They kissed slowly, lingeringly, savouring each other. Crane groaned as Abbie slipped a deft hand between them and stroked him, showing with gestures rather than words how much she longed for him.

The jittery feeling inside her was not all excitement; Abbie was as nervous as a virgin on her wedding night. Nervous because this was Ichabod – the man of her dreams, the love of her life, but also because she wanted to make him happy, to ease the pain he felt.

'My love,' Crane whispered. 'Are you… may I?'

He sounded as tense as a coiled spring, and Abbie had no desire to wait any longer. She pulled him tight to her and guided him home. She was torn between savouring the moment and wanting to make it last.

'Oh, baby… honey… more…' she heard herself whisper. As much as she wanted it to be good for him, she could not deny herself the pleasure he gave her.

'Abbie…' Crane gasped. 'You are so… perfect… so exquisite.'

'Oh, god,' Abbie moaned, feeling herself clutch at him, wanting to draw him inside, to consume him.

'Crane, I…' She broke off with a cry, feeling her lover's arms tighten around her, as if trying to hold her in that moment forever.

The noise he made was a deep, ragged moan, almost a cry. As he looked down into her eyes, he was sure he could see the sun rising, as of a world begun anew.


End file.
